Helones awoke to the sound of distant thunder. The morning sky was blanketed with thick, dark clouds, casting a somber light over Ungrey. He stretched his arms, sore from the previous day’s sparring, and washed his face with the cold water left by the servants. As he dressed, the weight of responsibility pressed on him—there was still much to do to restore the manor’s former glory.


    After breaking his fast with a simple meal of bread and salted meat, he met with Lorren in the study. The advisor, ever diligent, had already prepared a list of tasks for the day.


    “My lord,” Lorren began, handing Helones a parchment, “the farmers await your word on the abandoned lands. If we wish to see them tilled again before next spring, we must act now.”


    Helones read through the list. Several families had shown interest in returning to the village, but they needed tools, seeds, and most of all, protection.


    “Summon the farmers. I will meet them in the great hall.”


    Lorren nodded and departed. Within the hour, the farmers gathered, their faces weary yet hopeful. One of them, a grizzled man named Marden, stepped forward.


    “My lord, we wish to reclaim our lands, but we lack the means. The war left us with nothing—no livestock, no plows, not even enough hands to work the fields.”


    Helones clasped his hands together, thinking. “If I provide tools and oxen, can you guarantee a full harvest next year?”


    Marden exchanged glances with the others before nodding. “Aye, my lord. We’ll work from dawn till dusk if need be.”


    “Then it is settled. I will allocate funds to procure what you need. In return, you will set aside a portion of your harvest for the manor.”


    A murmur of agreement spread through the farmers. With their support secured, Helones turned his mind to another pressing matter—the bandits.


    As he stepped outside, he found Ulfarn waiting for him. The sheriff’s expression was grim.


    “My lord, scouts have returned from the western woods. The brigands grow bold. They’ve built a camp deep within the forest and are raiding outlying farms. We must act soon.”


    Helones felt the tension rise in his chest. He had hoped for more time, but hesitation could cost lives.


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    “How many men do they have?”


    “Perhaps fifty, maybe more. They are seasoned fighters, deserters from the war.”


    Helones exhaled sharply. This would not be an easy fight.


    “We’ll gather our best men. We must strike before they become too strong.”


    Ulfarn smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that.”


    By nightfall, the manor bustled with activity. Weapons were sharpened, armor fitted, and torches lit. Helones donned his own mail, fastening his sword to his belt. Devoron stood beside him, determination in his young eyes.


    “Are you ready?” Helones asked.


    Devoron swallowed hard but nodded. “Yes, my lord.”


    Helones clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let us rid our lands of these parasites.”


    The hunt for the brigands had begun.


    The moon cast a silver glow over the land as Helones and his men moved through the dense forest. The scent of damp earth and pine filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of distant campfires. Ulfarn led the way, his years of experience guiding them through the underbrush without a sound.


    Devoron gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles white. Helones noticed and leaned in. “Steady your breath, Dev. Fear is the mind’s enemy.”


    The boy gave a small nod and exhaled, focusing his gaze on the path ahead.


    They halted near a ridge overlooking the bandit camp. Torches flickered below, casting twisted shadows on the tattered tents. The brigands were gathered around a central fire, laughing and drinking, oblivious to the danger lurking in the darkness.


    Helones crouched beside Ulfarn. “How many do you count?”


    “At least forty visible, but more could be inside the tents.”


    “We take them by surprise,” Helones whispered. “Archers first, then we charge.”


    He signaled to the bowmen hidden among the trees. A hush fell over the forest as arrows were nocked and drawn. Then, with a sharp gesture, Helones gave the command.


    The first volley struck true. Bandits fell, their laughter turning to screams. Chaos erupted as Helones and his men stormed the camp, steel clashing against steel.


    Devoron fought beside him, his strikes wild but determined. Helones parried an incoming blow and countered, cutting down an enemy before moving to the next. Ulfarn led a group toward the larger tents, driving out any who tried to flee.


    The battle raged on. The bandits, caught off guard, scrambled to defend themselves but were no match for the trained warriors of Ungrey. One by one, they fell.


    Helones turned in time to see a towering brigand swinging an axe toward Devoron. Without thinking, he lunged forward, his sword biting deep into the attacker’s side. Devoron gasped, wide-eyed, as the man collapsed.


    “Watch your flanks, boy,” Helones said, panting.


    Devoron swallowed and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”


    The battle was over within the hour. The remaining bandits either lay dead or fled into the night. Helones stood amidst the wreckage, catching his breath.


    “Burn the camp,” he ordered. “Let this be a warning to any who think to prey upon our land.”


    As the fires roared, he turned to his men. “You fought well. Tonight, we sleep as victors.”


    They rode back to Ungrey under the light of the burning camp, knowing that though this battle was won, the war for their home had only just begun.